My name is Pat’s Stone, and I’m a Frequent Flier.

You see, this all started when Fly Fisherman, Fisheries Biologists, Entomologists, and well, to be honest, Trout, began exploring rivers all over the world, and noticed me.  I like to summer in the Hampton’s, and overwinter in the Rocky Mountains; nothing too fancy, but I do like to stretch out, you know.  Good for the soul.  The trout just wanted a nice meal, can’t blame them.  The others, however, wanted to make something a little bit more out of me, the simple Stonefly.  Oh, I have many names, like Plecoptera if you want to get scientific – but for a while now, I’ve been known cordially as “Pat’s Stone.”

Here’s a picture of me back in ‘74.

Mustaches were really in that year.

I mentioned that I travel, right?  Recently, I’ve been spending a lot of time out on the river, getting a little fly fishing in.  You know, getting all snug packed into a plastic little box, or hooked onto a sheepskin patch to travel.  Loop a strand of thin fluorocarbon tippet around the ‘ol noggin, just to keep the wind off a little and to keep things straight.  Wait – don’t forget to latch on my buddy, WT.  WT – oh, that’s Wiggle Tail, but this is my story, not his.  The fun really begins with we get to swim and check out the underwater scenery.  Mossy rocks, downed trees, a few other smaller buggy looking buddies in that film up there.  They sure can’t make their mind up – am I gonna leave the shuck or not?  Whoa, did you see that rainbow back there, checking us out?  Let’s keep swimming, he looked a little hungry.

It's nice to see you again, gotta go!

I’ve really become used to that Thingamabobber up there, it sure does take a little strain off the ‘ol elbows.  Now I can just drift right above those rocks and logs, skipping along.  Nothing like it, it’s a pure rush – maybe bungee jumping.  Yeah, bungee jumping is a good way to put it.  I’m not sure what the heck’s been happening lately, but I’ve spent a lot more time up in the “friendly skies” than usual.  Normally, WT and me like to stay real low-profile like, and just hang out in the water.  Some body’s up to something.

I like to dabble in paranormal investigations, nothing real serious, but more than just the “UFO’s invade Pueblo’s night skies” stuff.  Pretty curious by nature, I guess.  Good to try new things.  But I get this feeling that I’m supposed to be on this “no fly” list of some kind (trust me, I get the irony in that one).  Why in the heck would WT, Thingamabobber, and me want to be up there in all that air?  The last time, I nearly got beheaded by that tin weight flying by.  Enough already!

We’ve decided that we’re going to settle down a little bit; maybe find some nice detritus out in the country, under a nice log home, and just hang out.  It’s awfully demanding to do all that travel – it seems like I remember the job posting describing “no travel is required” and we’re rather looking forward to starting a family, instead of all this air travel.  We’re going to take it easy, maybe look up our old buddy Roll Cast.  Roll Cast has gotten a little trickier in her old age, she’ll run at you from last Tuesday if you’re not watching, but the pace is right.  Smooth, drawing motion in a determined back cast, a pause to catch our breath when we’re as tall and light as that fly rod, then just enough of a rush and we’re head over heels headed right back in.  Thingamabobber lost his legs last week, but we got a new guy in, younger. Yellow size Medium I think his name is, good shoulders.  Water’s up, hadn’t seen a tin weight for a while but there’s more of them around lately, and it’s a little warmer too.

That’s better.  Who needs all that air travel anyways, when that sweet roll cast is all that you really need.  Well, but I’m just Pat’s Stone, and that’s my opinion.

The Good Life.

- Pat